


Spiral-Bound

by Deastar



Series: They Say Love Heals All Wounds [19]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Homework, M/M, Soul Bond, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 08:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14256516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deastar/pseuds/Deastar
Summary: Geno hums and walks over behind the sofa. He smells like summer – chlorine and suntan lotion. “What you doing?” he asks, leaning over Sid’s shoulder.“Therapy homework,” Sid answers, feeling a little shy. Geno knows that Sid gets therapy homework sometimes, and sometimes the homework even involves Geno, but that’s usually kissing homework. This is a little different. “It’s to help me with the, um. The blowjob thing.”





	Spiral-Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings: This fic is about a character’s efforts to reintroduce into his sex life an act that is associated with a past trauma. That past trauma is not discussed in detail—and won’t make any sense anyway if you haven’t read the first story in this series—but the character does flash back to it briefly in this fic. Also, please note that this fic is not intended to represent every person’s experience of trauma or flashbacks or therapy or recovery.
> 
> I hope these warnings assist readers concerned about potentially triggering material, but I worry that they make the story sound dark and depressing, so let me assure you: despite the sometimes-heavy subject matter, this fic also contains jokes, banter, giggles, cuteness, and lots of kissing – I promise.
> 
> Beta-read by the wonderful [laulan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laulan/pseuds/laulan), who has an unerring instinct for the right detail in the right place.

It’s early in the morning, which is its own little miracle since Sid’s morning grumpiness doesn’t usually play well with Zhenya’s love of morning sex. For once, Sid woke up amorous and sweet, still a little blurry as his hands mapped out the lines of Zhenya’s body as if he thought they might have changed overnight. The light of the sunrise through the curtains is winter-thin, almost silvery, and it gives the whole room a feeling of time suspended.

Sid had kissed his way down Zhenya’s body, taking his sweet time, and Zhenya hadn’t minded one bit. He’d played idly with his own cock, his arm brushing against Sid’s curls, and smiled when Sid let him get away with it, apparently too intent on his task to get possessive about Zhenya’s dick like he usually does.

At the end of his journey, though, after pressing a gentle kiss to the bony point of Zhenya’s hip, he’d replaced Zhenya’s hand with his own, and now he’s giving Zhenya a very slow, very heartfelt handjob with his head lying on the softer part of Zhenya’s hip. Zhenya weaves his fingers through Sid’s dark hair and takes deep breaths in and out, letting the pleasure move outward through his body, building up until he can feel it even in his toes. He’s in no hurry.

Sid says, quiet, “Hey, Geno.” His eyes are fixed on Zhenya’s cock.

“Hey, Sid,” Zhenya replies, smiling.

“Can I kiss your dick?”

Zhenya blinks, surprised. “Yes?” His voice turns up at the end despite his best efforts.

“Thanks,” Sid says. He leans in and, with great tenderness, lays a soft, closed-mouthed kiss on the side of Zhenya’s cock. The touch of his lips is too light to be more than a tease, but it’s a sweet one, and Zhenya’s breath catches.

Sid pulls back to rest his head on Zhenya’s hip again, still slowly stroking Zhenya’s cock.

“Good?” Zhenya asks, curious – as far as he remembers, that’s the first time Sid’s mouth has touched his cock since the bond crisis. Through the bond, he can feel some happiness, but also some nerves, and he won’t know whether he should be worried or not until he knows how those balance out for Sid.

But Sid smiles, and Zhenya can feel the nervousness fade away, replaced by the apple-sweetness of Sid’s contentment. “Yeah.”

Zhenya reaches down to trace the curve of Sid’s lips with his fingertips, and Sid kisses those, too. He keeps kissing Zhenya’s fingers, interspersed with little licks and gentle nips of his teeth, as his hand moves faster and faster on Zhenya’s dick, until Zhenya comes, groaning, his fingers shaking against Sid’s mouth.

After Sid finds his own pleasure between Zhenya’s thighs, they lie in bed face-to-face, a little sticky even after Zhenya wiped them down with some Kleenex, and just breathe. Zhenya thinks they might even go back to sleep, but then Sid says again, “Hey, Geno?”

“Hey, Sid.” Zhenya yawns on Sid’s name, tugging him a little closer.

Holding eye contact with Zhenya, Sid says clearly but hesitantly, “I think I want to try, um… blowing you. Giving you a blowjob.”

And—well. Zhenya is wide fucking awake now.

 

*

 

Sid holds his breath, waiting for Geno’s reaction. The first thing he sees on Geno’s face is panic, which isn’t a great start, but then Geno asks plaintively, “Right now?” and Sid understands the panic a little better.

“No, not right now,” Sid reassures Geno, trying not to laugh. “Come on, G, I’d never spring something like that on you.”

Geno lets out a relieved _whoosh_ of breath and jokes, “Good – I don’t think I can get up again so soon!” He cups the back of Sid’s head in one big hand. “So not right now,” he repeats. “Okay. But… you think about do sometime, is why you say?”

“Yeah,” Sid says, holding Geno’s gaze. “I think it’s going to take me some time to work up to it, but I want to sort of… get on that track. Start working toward it.”

“Okay.” Geno moves his hand down to fit the curve of Sid’s jaw and tilts his mouth up for a kiss. When they break for breath, he murmurs, “You know I don’t need, yes? You know I’m happy with sex we have now. Like _a lot_ happy.”

“Yeah. I do.” Sid wasn’t always sure of that. But he is now, and actually, that’s _why_ he thinks it’s time. He can do this for the right reasons, now – motivated by love and pleasure rather than insecurity and guilt. “And that means a lot.”

“I want this, though,” he explains. “I want it for you, because I want to give you this, give you pleasure this way, and that’s okay – that’s a good reason, because it’s healthy to want to please your partner.” That had taken a lot of talking out with Sid’s therapist, LaShawn—the line between the natural, healthy desire to give your partner pleasure and the unhealthy self-sacrifice Sid is still tempted by sometimes—but he thinks he has an okay handle on it now. “But I want it for me, too, you know? Because I think _I_ would like it. Blowing you is something I fantasized about, before the crisis, and I want that back. I want to have that for real.”

Geno nods. “Sound good to me. You talk to LaShawn about this?”

“Not, like, specifically about blowing you – not yet,” Sid admits. “I wanted to talk to you first.” That, and the fact that in some ways it’s easier to talk about bad sex stuff with LaShawn than it is to talk about good stuff. It’s really dumb for Sid to think that his therapist, who he chose specifically because she has expertise in sex issues, isn’t there to give him sex advice… but that’s a thought Sid’s caught himself having more than once, in precisely those words: _It’s not LaShawn’s job to give me sex advice_. He’s had to get comfortable enough with her to get past that kind of thinking, and he thinks he’s there, now, finally.

“Make sense,” Geno says, giving Sid’s arm a comforting, slow rub.

Sid nods. “When I started working with LaShawn, I told her one of my goals was to be able to do sex stuff that I can’t do right now because of the crisis, and she said that was something she could help me with. So I’ll talk to her next, and we’ll make a plan, I guess.”

“Of course plan.” Geno leans in for another kiss, short but sweet. “Any time you want my dick for your plan, it’s okay with me.”

Sid laughs, buoyant with relief. “Yeah, thanks, Geno.”

 

*

 

From that point on, Sid’s mouth gradually gets a little friendlier with Zhenya’s dick. He starts kissing it hello when Zhenya takes off his pants, which is too adorable for words, and he starts venturing some cautious, isolated licks when his mouth is in the neighborhood.

At the same time, Sid starts turning down sex more often and initiating sex less. Worried, Zhenya asks whether he’s doing something wrong.

Sid shakes his head right away. “You’re doing awesome,” he says firmly. “It’s…” He trails off on a sigh and sinks down onto the couch, wedging himself into the corner – a defensive position if Zhenya’s ever seen one. Sid looks down at his hands, giving off a wave of nervousness like a chilly fog. Haltingly, he explains, “Working on this, I’ve been thinking about the bond crisis a lot more often than I did before. Like… thinking about it in a lot of detail. And sometimes that… lasts. Carries over. And when it does, it kind of messes up the idea of sex for me for a little while.”

That makes sense to Zhenya, and he says so, relieved to know that he’s not somehow driving Sid away. But Sid is still bleeding worry through the bond. When Zhenya sits beside him and wraps an arm around his shoulder, trying to impart comfort, Sid blurts out, “I don’t have to do this. If you liked it better before, I can stop and we can forget about it—”

It’s been a while since Sid last tried his martyr shit on Zhenya. He’d forgotten how fucking insulting it is. Does Sid really think Zhenya’s going to say, _Yes, Sid, stop working through your trauma and working toward having the sex life you want – it’s more important to me to be able to get laid whenever I want_?

The answer, of course, is no, Sid doesn’t think Zhenya’s going to say that. But he’s worried that Zhenya is dissatisfied with their sex life—which is reasonable, but completely off-base—and his insecurity is making him express that worry in the most frustrating possible way. Zhenya knows all that from long experience, so he takes a deep breath and lets the frustration go.

“No,” he says, dropping a kiss on Sid’s temple, “you keep going, is good. I’m just happy I know now I’m not hurt you or make you mad, you know?”

He can feel Sid’s relaxation, twinned in his muscles and through the bond. “You’re not,” Sid says softly, snuggling in closer to Zhenya’s side. “You’re the best.”

Zhenya lets the warmth of Sid’s words and Sid’s body sink into him, enjoying the comfort of the bond and waiting to see if Sid has anything more to say.

After a minute, Sid speaks again, very quietly, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “It sucks a lot right now – having to think about it so much. But I think it’s doing something good for me. I think it’s helping.”

“This is most important thing,” Zhenya says firmly, and he presses a kiss against Sid’s cheek for emphasis.

 

*

 

LaShawn is a big believer in the idea that therapy isn’t just something that happens when Sid is in her office, and Sid is totally on board with that. He meant it when he told Geno that therapy seems, to him, like athletic training for emotional stuff, and it would be pretty dumb for him to only work out when his trainer is standing over him.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy, or fun, but Sid knows all about working toward a goal, and the effort you have to put in to get there.

LaShawn is also a big believer in lists, so right now Sid is curled up on the sofa with a notebook in front of him, the page divided into two columns, labeled, “Then” and “Now.” He’s got HGTV on in the background, with the sound dialed down to a pleasant unintelligible murmur.

He’s made it about halfway down the page when Geno wanders in, still in his swim trunks and smelling like chlorine, and says, “Hey, Sid.”

“Hey, Geno,” Sid replies absently. He waves at the TV without looking up and says, “I’m not really watching this, so you can change it if you want to watch something else.”

Geno hums and walks over behind the sofa. “What you doing?” he asks, leaning over Sid’s shoulder.

“Therapy homework,” Sid answers, feeling a little shy. Geno knows that Sid gets therapy homework sometimes, and sometimes the homework even involves Geno, but that’s usually kissing homework. This is a little different. “It’s to help me with the, um. The blowjob thing.”

Geno makes an interested noise, so Sid shows him the list and explains. “In the first column, I list stuff about the bond crisis, and on the other side, I write down how each thing could be different when I go down on you this time. So, like, the first thing on the list is that the bond crisis was at night, and then the other column says, ‘Day,’ because we could do it during the day this time.”

“Most smart, Sid,” Geno says, clearly intrigued. He swings a leg over the back of the couch and then plops down beside Sid, warm against Sid’s arm and thigh.

“LaShawn is great,” Sid agrees. He continues, “For some stuff, it definitely would be different, because it’s changed— _we’ve_ changed—so I write that down, too, because it helps show me that it couldn’t be the same even if we tried. So like, this one—” Sid points to an entry further down on the list. “—is that during the bond crisis, I hadn’t ever had any really awesome sexual experiences. But now I have, with you. So that’s what I’m doing.”

Geno hums thoughtfully. “You show me some part of list – I can read all?” he asks.

“Sure,” Sid says, offering Geno the notebook. He’s got nothing to hide.

He knows that reading in English isn’t the easiest thing for Geno, so he’s not surprised that it takes Geno a few minutes to get through it – Sid just looks out the window and keeps brainstorming stuff he can add when Geno gives the notebook back. When Geno’s done, though, he surprises Sid by asking, “Can I write on list?”

“Uh, sure.” Sid offers Geno his pen, curious about what Geno might want to add.

First, Geno thinks for a while. Then he writes under the first column, _Sid not turned on_ , and _Sid think I don’t love him_. He shows the list to Sid. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Sid agrees. He takes the pen from Geno and writes in the other column, _Turned on_ and _I know Geno loves me._

Geno asks for the pen back. Quietly, he says, “I think this one very important.”

Then he writes, _Sid can’t stop_ in the first column, and _Sid can stop always and its okay_ in the second.

Sid’s throat feels thick, and his eyes are stinging. He waits until he feels like he can trust his voice again, and then says hoarsely, “Yeah. That’s really important.” He should have thought of that one himself—it’s probably the most important thing on the whole list—but what matters is that it’s there now, and that it’s true. Blowing Geno is something that Sid really wants, but at the end of the day, that’s all it is – a want, not a need. If they try it and it doesn’t work out, they can just… stop. _Sid_ can stop. He has that power. This time, he’s in control.

“One more I think of,” Geno offers, and he puts in the first column, _Geno can’t help me_ and in the second column, _Geno help me any way I need_.

“Don’t forget, okay?” he asks, and presses a kiss against Sid’s jaw.

“Okay,” Sid whispers, smiling. “Okay.”

 

*

 

After the first time, Zhenya sees Sid adding to the list every now and then, pulling out the notebook while Zhenya is cooking dinner or while they’re watching TV. Every time Sid adds to it, he seems a little more confident, a little more relaxed. It’s good to see, and Zhenya feels proud that he contributed, too – that he was able to _do_ something instead of sitting on the sidelines while Sid is working so hard.

He’s intensely curious about how it’s going, what’s going through Sid’s head, but it’s hard for him to think of a question he could ask that wouldn’t sound like he’s pushing, so he keeps his mouth shut. Sid will tell him when there’s something to tell. And then Sid’s right wrist gets injured, which transfers to Zhenya, too, across the bond, and for the next couple of weeks, the topmost sex thought in Zhenya’s mind is how two right-handed people can have sex with just their left hands. (The answer turns out to be “ungracefully,” but they still manage to have a good time.)

Once their wrists are healed, though, Sid finds Zhenya in the den and hovers in the doorway to ask, “So, um, I was thinking that we have a day off coming up and maybe, um… maybe I would try giving you a blowjob then?”

“Sounds good to me,” Zhenya replies. The most important question, though, is… “You ready?”

Sid bites his lip. “I think so. I’ve been working really hard on it and I practiced on a dildo and that went okay, so—”

Sid breaks off at whatever he’s seeing on Zhenya’s face, which Zhenya can only imagine is an expression of complete and total stupefaction.

“What?” Sid asks defensively.

“You… practice… on dildo, ” Zhenya repeats, unsteady. Maybe he misheard. That would make the most sense, right?

“Yeah.” Sid blushes. “Sorry, is that weird? Maybe I shouldn’t have said—”

Okay, Zhenya didn’t mishear. Well, maybe he misunderstood, then. He interrupts Sid to ask, voice cracking, “You practice on dildo like… you put toy in mouth? You suck on it, lick?” Even saying the words is almost too much.

“Um, yeah—” Sid says, eyes wide.

Zhenya throws his arms up in the air as if entreating a cruel god and wails, “And you don’t let me _watch_?!”

He knows the world is a bleak and unfair place: he’s Russian, after all. But this is a level of unfairness that exceeds what a man should be expected to bear.

Sid, oblivious to Zhenya’s torment, cocks his head and asks doubtfully, “Would that be hot?”

Zhenya stares, speechless, his jaw hanging open uselessly.

Sid turns pink. “Oh. Well. I could do it again, I guess. Sometime. But um, to answer your question, uh, yeah – I feel ready. I feel good about it.”

With a mighty exercise of will, Zhenya drags his mind back on track. It’s not easy – the images Sid put in his head were enticing enough, and then the prospect of Sid doing it all over again for Zhenya’s viewing pleasure…

_Focus!_ Zhenya instructs himself sternly.

“Right, yes,” Zhenya manages, “real blowjob. Sorry, I’m most distract.”

Sid says, with a small, teasing grin, “I could tell.”

“Your fault!” Zhenya teases back. Then he sobers up; this is a hard thing that Sid is planning to do, and he’s going to need Zhenya’s full attention. There’ll be time for goofing off later. He asks, “You want to do on day off, then?”

“Yeah.” Sid prods at a PlayStation controller with his toe, scooting it across the carpet, then looks up at Zhenya. “Do _you_ feel ready? Is there stuff that you don’t want to do, or things that would make you feel more comfortable…”

It’s kind of funny, given how long they’ve been working up to this, that Zhenya hasn’t given his _own_ comfort level much thought, beyond deciding that he’s comfortable with the general idea. “Let me think,” he tells Sid, and then chews on his lip for a minute.

Zhenya imagines it going well – pleasure, laughter, closeness, Sid’s beautiful mouth opening for his cock, and afterward, curving in a smile. Nothing to change there.

Then Zhenya imagines it going badly—Sid freezing, flinching, hurting, Sid shying away from Zhenya’s touch in their bed in a way that he hasn’t since they were both hiding their feelings—and there’s something that bothers him about that, above and beyond the basic fact of Sid in pain.

“I don’t want we do in bed, or in bedroom,” he decides. “Bed is safe place for us, yes? Or I want, anyway. Don’t want to do maybe-scary thing there.”

He knows that’s not how trauma works, exactly; he doesn’t like thinking about it, but he understands that, on some level, sex is always maybe-scary for Sid. But this is extra scary, and he doesn’t want to invite that into their safe place.

He doesn’t want to fuck with Sid’s planning, though, or do anything that might make this harder for Sid. So he asks, as neutrally as he can, “What you think, Sid? You want same?” and waits for Sid’s answer.

 

*

 

Sid thinks through what Geno just said. Geno’s right, the bedroom is their safe place… but for that same reason, he thinks it might be _good_ to try the blowjob there, where they both feel secure and comfortable.

_But what matters is what makes Geno feel comfortable,_ Sid starts to think—then he catches himself and makes a face. If LaShawn heard him say that, she would raise her eyebrow so hard.

“Sid?” Geno blinks at him – god knows what he’s getting from Sid through the bond.

Sid shakes himself a little. “Sorry, just thinking. Can you… explain a little more why you want that?”

Geno blinks again, looking a little uncertain. “I’m just… if something bad happen, then when we go to bed after, forever, it’s remind us bad thing, and I’m not want, you know? Bedroom should remind us happy thing,” he adds quietly, and Sid’s heart thumps in his chest, feeling twice as full as usual.

“That’s… yeah. Good point,” he manages, joining Geno on the couch and tucking himself close against Geno’s lanky body. Now that he knows Geno’s reasoning better, he’s one hundred percent on board. “Okay.”

Geno sets a hand on Sid’s thigh, warm and grounding. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Sid rests his own hand over Geno’s. “Is there anything else? Anything that would make you feel better? Or things you _don’t_ want?”

Geno makes one of his thinking noises, so Sid gives him time. He curls his fingers toward the inside of Geno’s wrist, feeling for the steady beat of Geno’s pulse. When he finds it, he sighs and settles his head on Geno’s shoulder, zoning out a little on the soft, reassuring rhythm playing against his fingertips.

Eventually, Geno says, “I think of one more thing.” He twists his body toward Sid and angles his chin down like he wants a kiss; Sid is more than happy to give it to him.

“Want lots of this, first,” Geno murmurs when they both pull back for breath.

Sid nuzzles the point of Geno’s jaw. “Lots of…?”

“ _Kisses_ , Sid,” Geno says, as if it should be obvious. He pecks Sid on the cheek and explains, “Want lots of kissing, lots of touching, until we both lots of turned on. Go from nothing to blowjob right away is not sexy.” He wrinkles up his nose. Then, suddenly, he shoots Sid a rueful look. “Okay, is sexy sometimes,” he admits, half-laughing. “But is different thing. For this, no, should be most kissing first.”

This request, Sid doesn’t even have to think about. “Agreed,” he says firmly. “Lots of kissing.”

Over the next day or so, they pore over the list to try and plan a situation as different from the bond crisis as possible. After Geno vetoes fucking Sid’s mouth from on top—“Too hard for you to stop me if you need,” he says anxiously—they agree on having Geno stand or sit while Sid kneels.

“Sit, I think,” Geno says, giving Sid a hopeful look. “More easy for me to see you, touch you.”

Sid nods – he likes the sound of that, too. “You can sit on the living room couch?” he suggests. They’ve made a lot of good sex memories on that couch.

“Yes,” Geno agrees. He slants a look at Sid out of the corner of his eye. “When you want to do?”

“During the day, when it’s sunny.”

“Nice,” Geno says, approving.

Then Sid gets a sudden attack of nerves and blurts out, “Just because we’re making all these plans doesn’t mean I’ll be able to do it. It all sounds really… concrete, and—and final, with all these details, right now, but it’s not a sure thing.”

“I know,” Geno says. He smiles. “We try. Maybe it’s work, maybe it’s not. Plan is just plan. It’s not mean we have to do.”

Sid’s gaze drops to the list, falling on _Sid can stop always and its okay_ , and he takes a deep breath, feeling his nerves settle. “Right,” he says, looking back up at Geno. “We don’t have to do anything. Just what feels good.”

“Yes,” Geno says, squeezing Sid’s hand. “Yes.”

 

*

 

When their day off finally arrives, Zhenya wakes up to an empty bed and the low buzzing of Sid’s nerves, strong enough that Zhenya can feel them from across the house. He blows out a breath and scrubs his hands over his face. _So Sid has already been stewing for God knows how long_ , he thinks, and it frustrates him even though he understands it; he wishes Sid could have slept in or at least woken Zhenya up if he was just going to marinate in his own stress, but neither of those are things that Sidney Crosby would do.

Zhenya mashes his face into the pillow, reminds himself out loud, “I love this man. I love him just the way he is,” and climbs out of bed.

He’d expected that Sid would get _more_ nervous as soon as he knew Zhenya was awake, but thankfully it turns out to be the opposite: when Zhenya appears in the doorway of the kitchen, Sid’s anxiety cools, soothed by a bright wash of reassurance.

“Hey, you’re up,” he says, smiling across the kitchen at Zhenya. “I made coffee.”

“Not stress-breakfast?” Zhenya teases. He looks around theatrically as if searching for a hidden baking project.

Sid laughs. “I was tempted,” he admits. “But no. Now do you want this coffee or not?”

Hastily, Zhenya takes the mug Sid is offering. As he sips the coffee—just the right temperature—he watches Sid pull omelet ingredients out of the fridge. When all the ingredients are assembled, Zhenya takes over for the actual stove work. Normally, Sid would take this time to set the table, but today, he wraps his arms around Zhenya’s middle and presses himself to Zhenya’s back, drinking in the comfort of the bond while Zhenya cooks. _This is nice_ , Zhenya thinks, even if it does make it a little hard for Zhenya to move. He pauses to pat Sid’s elbow affectionately and then turns his attention back to the frying pan.

After breakfast and a quick shower by himself, Zhenya meanders down to the living room in just a pair of sweatpants. Sid is perched on the arm of the sofa in pajama pants, re-reading the therapy homework list for what must be the hundredth time. He’s clutching it a little more tightly than necessary, and Zhenya’s heart feels sore, suddenly – tender, like a new bruise.

_Oh, Sid_ , he thinks.

Sid looks up at him and smiles, so brave – _I would do anything for this man_ , Zhenya realizes, not for the first time.

“So. Um. Making out?” Sid says, his voice turning up at the end with uncertainty.

“Best making out,” Zhenya vows, coming to stand over Sid and cupping Sid’s face in his hands. Sid deserves nothing less, and Zhenya is going to make sure he gets it. “I’m make you most turned on of all time. You see.”

Sid sets the list on the side table and grins, settling his hands on Zhenya’s hips. “Most turned on of all time, wow,” he says, with teasing skepticism. “That’s a high bar.” His tone is light, but Zhenya can feel the nerves simmering underneath.

Zhenya sniffs dramatically and declares, “I’m use all my best tricks.”

“Oh, yeah?” Sid raises an eyebrow, still grinning. “Like what?”

“You see,” Zhenya promises. Sid’s not the only one who can make sex plans.

He sets himself up on the couch and Sid climbs into his lap as they trade soft kisses, still mostly chaste. Then he buries his hands in Sid’s hair and starts to massage Sid’s scalp with his fingertips, gently combing his fingers through Sid’s curls.

He’s never done this except when washing Sid’s hair before, so he has a split-second of insecurity— _is this going to work?_ —but it doesn’t last for long. Within a few seconds, Sid starts moaning almost inaudibly against Zhenya’s lips, and he relaxes into Zhenya’s chest, the line of his spine gone soft and yielding. His kisses, too, become yielding and lush, open-mouthed. As the quiet minutes tick by, Sid basically melts into a puddle of pleasure in Zhenya’s lap, pouring out warm and luxurious arousal through the bond until Zhenya feels like he’s floating in a hot spring.

“Okay, yeah,” Sid mumbles, eyes shut in bliss, “that’s a pretty good trick.”

The blinds are down and partly closed, but the sunlight is streaming in anyway, rendering Sid in alternating stripes of light and shadow, gold and silver. Zhenya never knows when he’ll stumble into one of these moments—the ones he feels he could live in forever—but he recognizes this one for what it is, and he holds it in his heart.

“You make me feel so good,” Sid murmurs, his lips moving against the corner of Zhenya’s mouth. “I want to make you feel good, too. Will you let me?”

Zhenya’s pretty sure he knows where Sid is going with this, and he nods, ready to follow where Sid leads.

Sid slides back onto Zhenya’s knees to give himself space, then presses his face against Zhenya’s chest for a second, right over his heart. Then he pulls out his own best trick: licking Zhenya’s nipples and sucking them gently, careful not to use his teeth because he knows Zhenya’s nipples are too sensitive for rough handling. He knows exactly how Zhenya wants it, and it takes Zhenya apart like it always does: the pleasure goes straight to Zhenya’s dick, making him shiver and keen. He doesn’t let Sid do this often, for reasons that he knows are stupid: still obscurely ashamed of how much he likes it, and of needing that kind of gentleness… But if what Sid wants right now is to make Zhenya feel good, then Zhenya wants to give him that, with his whole body. It’s the least he can do.

Zhenya doesn’t have enough hands for everywhere he wants to touch, everything he wants to do – to keep Sid purring with a hand in his hair, to pinch Sid’s own rose-pink nipples, to cup the bulge in Sid’s soft, flannel sleep pants and rub until Sid is panting. He’ll never, ever get enough of Sid, no matter how many times they come together.

“Most turned on, yeah,” Sid breathes, looking up at Zhenya with glazed eyes. His cheeks and lips are the sweetest red. “I… I think…” He swallows, and his gaze clears as a pulse of nervousness travels through the bond. Then he carefully, deliberately pulls back from Zhenya and sinks down to kneel on the carpet.

 

*

 

Sid doesn’t let himself stop to think about what he’s doing. Like he told Geno, he’s really fucking turned on, and he’s not going to waste that. He plucks at the waistband of Geno’s sweatpants and asks, “Can these come off?”

Geno nods, eyes wide, and boosts up his hips so Sid can pull his pants down and then off.

“But you, too,” Geno adds, and yeah, that seems fair, so Sid strips off his own sleep pants.

Geno reaches out toward Sid’s head like he’s going to start massaging Sid’s scalp again, and Sid realizes, suddenly, that Geno’s hand is trembling a little. _He’s nervous_ , Sid thinks, with a soft twinge in his chest.

“I’m nervous, too,” Sid confesses quietly, kissing Geno’s fingertips before tilting his head up to meet Geno’s gaze. “But it’s gonna be okay. One way or another, it’s going to be okay. We’ll be okay.” Even if this turns into a disaster, he and Geno will still be solid. He knows that absolutely.

Geno smiles and runs the backs of his fingers down Sid’s cheek. “Yes,” he whispers. “Yes, yes, yes.”

After that, there’s nothing more to say.

Sid turns his attention to the splay of Geno’s long, graceful legs in front of him, and arousal comes to the forefront of his mind again, anxiety moving to the back burner to simmer. It’s kind of an awkward push-pull of emotions, but Sid’s getting used to it. He spends a little time getting reacquainted with the scar on Geno’s knee, then kisses his way up Geno’s pale inner thigh. When he gets to Geno’s dick, he doesn’t stop – just keeps laying a line of kisses all the way up the shaft, too. After months of careful kisses, it’s not new territory for him anymore. At the tip, his tongue darts out to taste, and Geno groans.

“Ready?” Sid asks, his heartbeat so loud in his ears.

Geno sets one hand on Sid’s shoulder, and cups Sid’s head very gently with the other. “Ready,” he whispers.

Tentatively, prepared to pull back at any moment, Sid slides his mouth down and over the head of Geno’s cock, and Geno gasps. After a moment, Sid carefully pulls back to self-assess. It didn’t make him think of anything bad, he notes: there’s no cold in the pit of his stomach crowding out the heat still smoldering there. _Good_ , he thinks, and smiles. Then he wraps his hand around the base of Geno’s dick, and sinks down onto it again.

It feels good, like he remembered – not memories of the bond crisis, but memories of his teenage years, and of his sex toy experiments since then. There’s the same initial feeling of _wait a minute, this is too big, fuck, I have too many fucking teeth_ before his mouth remembers how to fit itself around the shape of a dick, and then the rich feeling of fullness, the play of different textures against the flat of his tongue.

It’s better than his memories, though, too: instead of furtive silence or unresponsive silicone, Sid gets Geno’s deep groans and hissed Russian curses. Geno’s hands are shaking in earnest now, and it lights a fire in Sid, knowing that he’s made Geno feel this good.

Sid bobs his head, not trying anything fancy, using his hand on whatever his mouth can’t fit. He’s having fun, enjoying the pleasure he can pull from Geno… and then, just for a moment, he feels it, dropping in like an unwelcome guest. Something he can’t quite pin down, some particular taste or smell or sound, puts him back for a split-second in the time before: in the hotel room, in the dark, and the fear that nothing would ever be okay again.

He pulls back and shakes his head, trying to shake the memory off. _Let it go_ , he thinks, focusing on his breathing like LaShawn taught him. _That was then, and this is now. This is different. This is good._ The present reasserts itself in pieces: the morning sunlight peeking through the blinds; the notebook with his list on the side table; Geno’s eyes, bright and alert; the expression on his face, curious at Sid’s pause, but not afraid; and the bond between them, comforting and sure.

When Sid feels firmly grounded in the present again, he leans back in, licking all around the head of Geno’s cock, determined to pick back up where he left off, but… even though the memory has been pushed away, some residue of it is still there, clinging onto him. It’s not like the flashback—it doesn’t take him over, he can feel other things just fine—but there’s still something just… not right, like a tiny pinprick of cold at the back of his neck, or a slight heaviness in the pit of his stomach.

_No, no, come on_ , he thinks desperately, pressing his face into the crease of Geno’s thigh and taking a shuddering breath. _Fuck—it was going so well—_

His instinct is to keep going, he _wants_ to keep going. He wants to push through, to _make_ it work, wants to just fucking… _have_ this, like a normal person, like he could have done if everything hadn’t been so fucked the first time they touched. He wants to treat the slow encroachment of memory the way he would treat a pulled muscle or a tweaked joint—

But he and LaShawn talked about this exact thing. _This isn’t like a twisted ankle, Sidney_ , she’d said, like she could read his mind—even though he knows she’s read-blind, like him. _This isn’t something you can ‘play through’ or just ‘walk off.’ If you try, chances are you’ll end up with a second traumatic experience. And that’ll make it twice as hard the next time you try, because then you’ll have two sets of bad memories haunting you. So if it gets bad, just take a break, Sidney_, she told him, holding eye contact until he squirmed. _There’s no shame in that. You can always start up again if you start to feel better… but better safe than sorry._

It’s hard, it’s _so_ hard to pull back—Sid can’t help feeling disappointed, and worse, he’s pretty sure Geno will be disappointed, too—but he makes himself do it. In his heart, he knows LaShawn is right. And he made a promise to Geno, back at the very beginning of their relationship, that he wouldn’t ever let Geno keep going if something during sex felt bad or reminded him of the bond crisis. He won’t break that promise for anything, even for something that Geno wants.

_It’s just a break_ , Sid reminds himself. _If I can clear my head, we can keep going_. _And Geno might be disappointed, yeah… but not disappointed in me. He won’t think I’m weak, or that I’m not trying hard enough._

Mind made up, he sits back on his heels. He makes himself look up to meet Geno’s eyes and says softly, “Hey. I’m gonna take a quick break. Things got a little rough for a second, and I want to clear my head.”

Geno blinks quickly and reaches toward Sid—then he hesitates, as if he’s not sure he should touch. At the same time, he says, “Take little break? Sid, we can stop, _should_ stop—”

Sid grabs Geno’s hand, so he knows Sid’s not afraid to be touched, and then says firmly, “I don’t want to stop,” dropping his shields to make extra sure Geno can tell that he means it. “I just need a little break. Not a break from… this…” He waves his hands inarticulately, trying to indicate _this positive sex situation we’ve got going here_. “Just the actual, you know, cocksucking part.”

Geno chews on his lip for a second, obviously uncertain. “You sure, Sid?” he asks, finally, in a low voice. “You sure break is better, not just stop?”

“I’m sure,” Sid says, and he is. He still feels… a little off, honestly. But he doesn’t think calling a halt so he can go wallow in those bad memories is going to help him.

“LaShawn said it was okay,” he says, knowing that Geno thinks highly of LaShawn, “and I—it was good before, right?”

Geno nods, which is encouraging – Sid was pretty sure Geno was enjoying himself, but it never hurts to get confirmation.

He explains, “If I felt good, and you felt good, then… I don’t want to lose that and just… go run errands or something. If I feel okay about going back to blowing you, then I might do that, too—” although he’s not going to rush back into it “—but either way… yeah. I’m sure.” He totally understands why Geno is worried, but… Sid’s not doing a crazy self-sacrifice thing this time. He’s just trying to do something that they’ll both enjoy.

Geno nods again, slowly, and brings Sid’s hand up to his lips for a kiss. “Okay, Sid. But remember,” he adds, squeezing Sid’s hand, “if you change mind, want stop for real… is always okay. Always.”

Sid smiles up at him, warmed at the reminder – and warmed again at the realization that, in his whole thought process about this, the idea that it might not be _okay_ to stop, that he might not be able to, had never even occurred to him. That’s pretty cool. “Okay,” he repeats back. “Okay.”

Of course, deciding to keep the good sex thing going and _actually_ keeping the good sex thing going are different things. The stress of the last few minutes pretty much killed Sid’s erection, and he can see that Geno’s dick is flagging, too. Sid tries to think of what he can do that will bring the mood back. He remembers how much Geno liked the thought of Sid sucking on a toy, liked the thought of _watching_ Sid suck on a toy, and he says, “Here, give me your fingers.”

When Geno carefully reaches toward him, Sid leans forward and sucks two of Geno’s fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them.

Geno groans and shoves his fingers a little deeper into Sid’s mouth, so, yeah, it seems like that was a good move. Sid takes them, sucking hard for a minute before pulling off and saying, “This is good for me.” He holds Geno’s gaze as he says it, making sure Geno believes it.

It _is_ good, Sid thinks, sucking down Geno’s fingers again. It’s familiar, and intimate, and it doesn’t feel connected to the bad memories that Sid is trying to push away. That’s exactly what Sid needs: something different and good to focus on, to take his mind away from the still-clinging dark threads of not-right-ness. Plus, maybe it’s weird, but it’s kind of soothing just to have something in his mouth, period.

Sid focuses on that feeling, and all the other good feelings—the lean muscle of Geno’s thighs under Sid’s palms, the pleasure of Geno’s hand stroking his hair—and tries to open himself up fully to Geno. He wants Geno to know for sure just how good Sid is feeling right now.

 

*

 

_Thank God for the bond_ , Zhenya thinks, as Sid goes to town on his fingers. Without it, he doesn’t think he’d be able to do this – he’d be too worried that Sid was martyring himself. But with the bond wide open between them, he can tell for certain that Sid is feeling at least okay, that Sid is enjoying himself, and that makes Zhenya feels like he can in good conscience do the same.

Sid is fucking good at this—which Zhenya could have predicted, now that he knows Sid has been _practicing_ in outstandingly filthy ways—and watching him happily fellating Zhenya’s fingers, complete with enthusiastic little moans, is starting to drive Zhenya out of his mind. And there’s more, too, flowing through the bond. For example, Zhenya can _feel_ exactly how much Sid likes having his mouth full, and faced with that kind of information, and the lush, hot suction of Sid’s mouth around his fingers, Zhenya’s poor dick never stood a chance. Before long, it’s hard and eager all over again, and informing Zhenya that it really fucking wants to be touched – preferably by Sid, but Zhenya’s hand and the couch cushions are acceptable alternatives. Zhenya doesn’t generally let his genitalia run the show, and he definitely doesn’t want to fuck with whatever groove Sid has found, but _damn_ , he feels like he’s going to scream if he has to wait much longer to get some friction on his dick.

Finally, Zhenya can’t take it anymore, and he asks, voice cracking, “Sid, is okay if I…” He gestures at his erection with his free hand.

Sid lets Zhenya’s fingers slip out of his mouth with such obvious reluctance that Zhenya groans. “If you what?” he asks. He looks absolutely sinful kneeling there between Zhenya’s legs, with his lips all red and wet and his hair a mess from Zhenya’s petting.

Nervously, Zhenya gestures at his dick again and asks, “Is okay if I jerk off in your break? I don’t want mess with your plan, but I…”

Sid’s gaze goes dark and sharp, and if Zhenya thought Sid looked hungry before, this is a whole other level.

_Right,_ Zhenya thinks… or rather, remembers. _Sid likes this. He likes when I ask him for things._ Judging from the diamond-sharpness of his Sid’s focus right now, he likes it _a lot_.

Their gazes are locked together, and for some reason, Zhenya’s having trouble drawing in a full breath.

“Yes. _Yes._ I want you to,” Sid says intently, his voice low and implacably sure. Something about it makes Zhenya shiver, in a good way. “Do it. I want you to touch yourself.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Zhenya says, with feeling, wrapping his spit-slick hand around himself and finally, _finally_ getting some sweet friction. “Fu- _uuuck_ ,” he moans, dragging the word out in relief. He lets his eyes flutter shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, the odd intensity on Sid’s face has been overwritten by sheer erotic appreciation of the sight before him. Zhenya can’t help preening a little.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sid says a little hoarsely, smiling. “You know how good you look.” Before Zhenya can respond to that, Sid adds, as casually as anything, “Try not to come before I get my mouth on you again, okay?” Then he tugs Zhenya’s other hand toward his mouth, and sucks Zhenya’s fingers down with renewed fervor.

_Damn it_ , Zhenya thinks, torn between arousal and frustration. He _really_ _wants_ to come, but far be it from him to stand in the way of one of Sid’s sex plans, especially one that might be more important than usual. So, with a whimper, he obediently slows the motion of his hand. He would try to think of something unsexy, but he’s pretty sure that’s not going to be possible with Sid swirling his tongue over the sensitive pads of Zhenya’s fingers and, oh, by the way, starting to absent-mindedly play with Zhenya’s balls while he sucks. Still, Zhenya holds himself back from the edge, trying to give Sid what he asked for.

His patience is rewarded a few minutes later when Sid releases Zhenya’s hand, brushes his fingertips against the head of Zhenya’s dick, and says, “My turn again. Okay?”

_Thank you, God_ , Zhenya thinks, sagging against the back of the sofa with relief. He checks through the bond and—yes, everything feels okay. There’s none of the guilt or desperation he thinks he would sense if Sid were offering because he thought he had to rather than because he wants to. “Yes, okay,” he tells Sid, almost giddy at the prospect of getting Sid’s touch again, “is yours again, thank you for let me borrow.”

Sid giggles like a dork, which inexplicably doesn’t make him any less sexy in Zhenya’s eyes. “Yeah, that was nice of me, wasn’t it?” he says, half-smug, and Zhenya can’t help smiling even as he shakes his head.

As Sid scoots in close and wraps his hand around the base of Zhenya’s cock, Zhenya checks, “Now I can come, yes? Because you get mouth on me again?” His voice turns up at the end hopefully.

“You better,” Sid says absently, licking his lips while he studies Zhenya’s dick like there’s going to be a quiz later. “I want it on my face.”

“ _Sid!_ ” Zhenya wails. He’s not going to last _at all_.

In the end, he only succeeds in getting a corner of Sid’s chin and making a splattery mess on his own lap when Sid pulls off, but Sid looks happy, and that’s all Zhenya really cares about.

 

*

 

As Sid lays his head on a dry part of Geno’s thigh and tries to catch his breath, he tries to figure out how he’s feeling. He decides that he’s feeling really fucking good.

It didn’t go exactly how he’d fantasized, but he’s learned over the last year that that basically never happens, so that part’s not a big deal. He can tell that Geno liked it a lot, which gives Sid a big boost. And Sid himself…

_I got it right_ , he concludes, and he tucks a small smile against the soft skin of Geno’s inner thigh. There was a part where he didn’t feel great, and it lingered for a while, and that sucked. But he didn’t push, he didn’t force it – he took care of himself, he waited until he felt comfortable to start again, and because of that, he got what he wanted in the end.

_I gave Geno a blowjob_ , Sid thinks, full of contentment down to his toes. _Even if it was a blowjob with a break, that still counts. And I got to feel those feelings and share them with Geno, and that was really cool._

Geno pets Sid’s hair and asks quietly, “You okay, Sid?”

“I’m good,” Sid affirms – his voice comes out wrecked, and he likes that, too.

“You sure?” Geno probes, still keeping his voice low. “Even with break, it’s okay?” He worries at his lower lip for a second, his eyes traveling over Sid’s body, and then adds, almost apologetically, “You, um… not look turned on, Sid.”

“I’m turned on!” Sid says indignantly—then he follows Geno’s gaze down, between his legs…

“Oh.” He can feel himself blushing a little. He knows it’s normal, because of the stress or whatever, but he’d somehow assumed it wouldn’t happen to _him_. “Well, I guess it doesn’t look like it. But I’m turned on in my _head_ ,” he insists, which sounds a little weird but is the best way he can think to put it. “Come on, Geno – you made those great _noises_ when I sucked your fingers, and you came on my _face_ , and right before you did it I think you called me something really dirty in Russian—”

Geno, to Sid’s amazement, blushes right back. “You shouldn’t know those words, I don’t teach you them,” he mutters, which makes Sid laugh.

“I’m a fast learner,” he tells Geno, grinning as he rises to his feet. Then he says, “Hey.” He waits for Geno to meet his eyes, then tells him, “Seriously, don’t worry about my dick. It’s just a stress thing, it definitely doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.”

Geno nods, seeming satisfied, and says, “Good.” He reaches out to pat Sid’s dick gingerly and tells it, “Sorry about stress, Sid-dick. We have nice, easy fun for you tonight, I promise.”

Sid chuckles. “Sounds good.” He leans in for a kiss. “I’m going to shower – you want to join me?”

Geno shoots a rueful look down at the mess in his lap. “I think I need, yes.”

Sid tries to restrain himself, he really does, but years of locker-room instincts are hard to fight, and he can’t help chirping, “Yeah, what’s up with that aim, G?”

Geno’s jaw drops open, and he gives Sid an outraged look. “You… you…!” he sputters.

Sid laughs—all right, in perfect honesty, he giggles—and takes off for the shower, too happy in this moment to even feel self-conscious about his ridiculous laugh.

“My aim is best, you just too hot!” Geno complains behind him.

“Excuses, excuses,” Sid throws over his shoulder, grinning when he hears Geno’s affronted squawk from down the stairs.

 

*

 

It’s several days later when Zhenya finds Sid sitting on the bed, contemplating the notebook with his therapy homework list in it.

“You okay, Sid?” Zhenya asks, reflexively checking through the bond – he doesn’t sense any darkness or sharp edges.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He looks up at Zhenya and says, “Just trying to decide what I should do with this.”

“Do with?” Zhenya repeats, not sure what Sid means.

“You know, if I should keep it or throw it away.”

Zhenya physically leans back, so struck is he by surprise. “Can’t _throw away_ , Sid!” he says, scandalized at the very thought.

“Why not?” Sid asks – not in a challenging tone, but just like he’s curious about what Zhenya’s going to say.

“Is important!” Zhenya tells him. “This is why. Is say important things.” _I wrote some of those things_ , he thinks, a little hurt even as he acknowledges that it’s not _his_ list, and Sid has every right to do what he wants with it.

But Sid smiles up at him, and affection pours through the bond like warm water over the back of Zhenya’s neck. “It does,” he agrees, and then he recites them, solemnly, like sacred verses: “I know you love me. I can always stop, and it’s okay. You’ll help me any way I need. I know what good feels like now.”

“Sid…” Zhenya can’t do anything else in that moment but sit beside Sid and encircle him with his arms. He buries his face in Sid’s hair and just breathes for a moment, comforted by the knowledge that Sid is feeling just as much as he is – like a big wave rolling across the ocean that signifies Sid’s love for him.

Softly, Sid says, “I know those things. I know them… by heart. So I don’t think I need the list anymore.” He pauses, then admits, leaning into Zhenya’s frame, “But I still kind of… don’t want to let it go. That’s why I was sitting here, trying to decide.”

“Is your decision,” Zhenya tells him, settling back far enough to look Sid in the eye. “But if you want to know what I think—”

“I do.”

Zhenya says firmly, “Then keep. You know these things – good. But…” He thinks back to a few mornings ago, when he came down the stairs to find Sid clutching the list like a talisman – he’s sure Sid knew it by heart then, too. But it meant something to him to have it all written down; to have something physical he could cling to. Zhenya understands that. And he doesn’t want Sid to lose it.

He thinks of how to express this to Sid – how to make Sid see that, just because he already knows what the list says, it can still have something left to say. It doesn’t take long. Sid’s own words point him on his way.

“You know I love you, yes?” Zhenya says, taking Sid’s hand. “You just say. But is not mean I’m not need to say anymore. Yes?”

Sid smiles, and his understanding dawns through the bond like the sun rising over that wide ocean. “Yes,” he says, so very sure.

“Is important, sometimes, to have reminder,” Zhenya finishes, quietly. “Even when you already know is true.”

“Yeah.” Sid rests his head on Zhenya’s shoulder, and Zhenya can read a warm sense of relief that echoes his own. “Yeah, it is.”

The notebook comes to live on Sid’s bookshelf, next to his historical romance novels. Every now and then, Zhenya will come into the bedroom to see that the notebook has shifted in position, like someone pulled it out and then put it back again, and he smiles and thinks, _Sid knows I love him._ And if, occasionally, Zhenya brushes his own fingers against the spine of the notebook as he walks past, then that’s all right, too, he thinks. Everybody needs a reminder sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments are loved - just copying and pasting a line or two that stood out to you means a lot!
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](https://youhideastar.tumblr.com)!


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